


Obstacles

by Soledad



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24493996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: This is a dark and gritty AU story, taking place during the two-part opener of Series Four, while Arthur and his knights are on their way to the Isle of the Blessed. Lord Agravaine finds a different way to remove an obstacle from Morgana’s way.
Relationships: Guinevere/OMC/OMC





	Obstacles

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to FF.Net, back when Series 4 of "Merlin" was first running.

**FOREWORD**

Right while watching the season opener, I caught myself asking: What the hell was Gwen _thinking_ , confronting the most powerful man of the realm in front of his peers, and then going to his chambers, at night, alone, without Arthur nearby to protect her? Under any circumstances having more to do with reality than a fairy tale, _that_ would have had dire consequences. 

Like the ones described in this story.

I was trying to keep as close to canon events as possible, even using some of the original dialogue, but giving the individual scenes a more realistic turn. It’s not that I _wanted_ Gwen any harm, even though her increasing Mary Sue-ness annoyed the hell out of me, but let’s get real, what were the chances that everyone else but Arthur – who’s clearly too besotted to think – would tolerate a behaviour like hers from a _servant_? 

Half of the story is written from Agravaine’s POV – whom I tried to give a believable motivation for conspiring with Morgana against Uther and Arthur – therefore it isn’t very friendly towards the official couple of the show. You have been warned.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**PART ONE**

Lord Agravaine DuBois was an ambitious man, with a keen eye for power and position at court; had always been. A man who believed in the goal justifying the means by which one would reach it and who therefore found all possible methods that would help him gain more power and influence acceptable.

 _Including_ the use of dark arts, although he never dabbled in those personally.

However, he was also a cautious man, which was why he had spent the last twenty-odd years in the ancient keep of his family, only visiting Camelot when his presence as one of the greatest landowners was required. He had wanted to keep the chances of a confrontation with Uther limited.

As the eldest son of his father, he had inherited lordship, and it was his duty to tend to the extended lands of the family and to care for the well-being of his tenants properly. This way he had a good excuse to avoid court as much as possible.

He did keep up every appearance of supporting Uther’s rule, as it was a stable one, keeping the realm strong and prosperous for a more worthy sovereign to come, while sitting out his time in safe distance, waiting for the opportunity to bring around the doom of the man he hated more than every other soul under the sun.

Therefore, it was unusually careless of him to leave the city in broad daylight and all on his own, instead of under the protective veil of darkness. He could see the wily old court physician and the insolent little serving wench that had so bewitched Uther’s young fool of a son giving him queer looks as they were pulling blankets over the people killed by the Dorocha last night. The two were definitely in league; he would have to keep an eye on them.

The girl was just a loud-mouthed little wench, way too sure about her supposed importance; but Gaius… Gaius was knowledgeable and shrewd. The old man, once a passable sorcerer, had managed to survive the last twenty-some years in close proximity to Uther, by pretending to help the King fighting magic. Underestimating him would have been a mistake, and – unlike Uther – Agravaine was going to make that particular mistake.

Besides, he knew all too well that Gaius was still capable of using magic. That he had, in fact, used magic from time to time during those years. He had, after all, crippled the powerful Morgause so much that she hadn’t seen any other way to seek revenge than sacrificing himself in the night of Samhain and thus unleashing the Dorocha upon the world.

Agravaine did not mourn her demise at all. She had been an obsessed, manipulative bitch who had used Morgana and her awesome powers to her own purposes. The Lord of Bois doubted that Morgause had ever truly cared for Morgana as a _person_ rather than just as a means to reach her goals… whatever _those_ truly might have been.

Her methods had definitely not brought Morgana any lasting luck. The thought that Vivienne’s daughter had been forced to dwell in a pathetic cottage in the woods like some lowly peasant’s wife burned him like fire as he was riding through said woods. Granted, he had seen that she would have maids and servants around her – as long as she was willing to tolerate them – but she should have been living in Camelot as its rightful Queen. She had both the power and the beauty for it - if, sadly, not the legal claim or the wisdom.

Not _yet_ anyway. But with all obstacles removed from her way and the right man of experience behind her throne, she might become a great Queen yet, now that Morgause was no longer there to whisper nonsense into her ear all the time. 

Nonsense about returning magic to all five kingdoms and things like that. 

In his opinion, while magic could be a useful tool, _that_ was all what it was supposed to be: a tool. Not a purpose in itself, or it could easily get out of control. As much as he hated Uther, in one thing he agreed with the King. Uncontrolled magic, free for every hedge witch or village conjurer to use, was a dangerous thing.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
His thoughts were interrupted when he finally reached Morgana’s cottage. He dismounted and bound his horse to one of the beams holding the roof.

“My lady!” he called out. 

It was better to announce his arrival in time; she could react violently if surprised. Her powers had grown at an alarming rate during the last, lonely year she had spent in hiding.

Entering the cottage, he found her sitting in her heavy chair, next to the stone ring in which the fire was burning, her dark shawl wrapped tightly around her painfully thin body. Her oval face was pale and hollow in the dark frame of her long tresses, her lips almost ghostly white without the bright red paint she had used earlier; her dark eyes huge and burning.

She looked up to him with that intense, obsessed look that always made him shiver… and not in a good way. She might have had her mother’s ethereal beauty, but she completely lacked Vivienne’s joy in life. She was like a cold shadow of the woman he had loved more than life itself.

He would still do everything for her, though. She was Vivienne’s daughter; and unlike Morgause, who had come after Gorlois, she was the spitting image of their mother. Sometimes so much that he had an uncomfortable confusion of his feelings when in her company.

Not right now, though. Not when she was like this: like a ghost, hell-bent on vengeance.

“What news of the mighty Camelot?” she asked tonelessly, with just a hint of cold sneer in her voice.

Agravaine tore off his gloves to warm his hands over the fire. Temperatures had dropped drastically since the appearance of the Dorocha, and his fingers were numb with cold.

“It is as we planned,” he answered; although to tell the truth, the whole unleashing-the-evil-dead-upon-the-living insanity had been _Morgause’s_ hare-brained idea. _He_ would have preferred to rule over a realm that still had some actual subjects alive. Otherwise what good was it to be the ruler? “The city is falling into wrack and ruin.”

And would have to be rebuilt – again! – after the dead spirits were done with their work of slaughter and distraction. He truly wondered how Morgana, who had once honestly cared for the people of Camelot, could have bought into that plan of indiscriminate murders. It did not fit with her personality – the one he had known practically since her birth.

Was she truly that mad at the people for supporting the rightful King against a bastard daughter with no justified claim to the throne? 

Apparently so, because she just nodded with cold, terrible satisfaction, her mind on the next issue already.

“And Arthur?” she asked. _Is he dead already?_ – was the unvoiced message behind that question.

Agravaine spread his hands over the fire. The warmth felt good in his chilly bones. He was definitely getting too old for this conspiracy business.

“The last we heard, he had made it past Daelbeth,” he replied.

Morgana, apparently feeling the chill of disappointment, pulled her shawl tighter around herself.

“Will we never be rid of him?” she complained in a low, harsh voice.

Agravaine rubbed his hands together to stimulate the blood flow in his still way too stiff fingers. _Definitely too old for this_ , he noted mentally.

“Patience, my lady,” he tried to soothe her. “Even if he makes it to the Isle, the outcome will be the same.”

The romantic young fool would heroically sacrifice himself and through his selfless act – hopefully – repair the veil between the two words before the whole of Camelot would turn into one giant, quiet tomb. Even so, the price for getting rid of the Prince Regent was too high, Agravaine found. There should have been another way; a way without having the people of the realm massacred.

Not for the first time, he had severe doubts that Morgana would make a good Queen of Camelot – even if the rulers of the other kingdoms _would_ acknowledge her claim, which was more than doubtful. By the hereditary laws of Albion, in which all ruling Houses agreed, a bastard could only have claim for the throne if his or her sire had publicly acknowledged them.

Uther had never done _that_ for Morgana. Therefore she had no legal claim on the throne. Even if Arthur died while Uther still lived – if you could call his bleak existence a _life_ – she would be considered a usurper. That didn’t mean Agravaine would not support her claim, of course. She was, after all, Vivienne’s daughter – the only thing he still had to give _his_ hollow life a meaning.

She seemed disturbed by his long silence, for she looked up to him again, her eyes cold, unmoving and intense like those of a snake, trying to paralyze its prey.

“What brings you here so early?” she asked. “Something is wrong.”

The second part was _not_ a question. She had an eerie feeling for wrongness, in everything, save for her own doing.

“A minor irritant,” he spread his hands above the fire just a moment longer before walking over to her to stand behind her chair. 

“Guinevere,” he explained to the questioning look she threw over her shoulder, grabbing the high back of the chair with both hands to bring his annoyance under control. “She takes it upon herself to speak out against me; and that in the presence of the entire Council. I am not used to peasants storming into the Council chamber and berating me – _me_ , who have been empowered by the Prince Regent himself to rule the realm in his absence as I see fit.”

“Tell me,” Morgana ordered, and Agravaine gave her a brief summary of Gwen’s grand scene in the Council chamber. Morgana listened to him wordlessly, her face becoming colder and darker by the moment.

“She is dangerous,” she finally commented in a low, menacing voice, leaving no doubt about how she intended to deal with that particular danger.

Agravaine laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, she’s a servant. A spirited one, perhaps, but a servant nonetheless. I shall see that self-righteous spirit of hers is broken, sooner or later, so that she learns where her proper place is. Even if the Prince Regent has the hots for her.”

Morgana stood abruptly. “No, you’re wrong. I’ve dreamt of the future, and in the dream that… _servant_ ,” she spat the word with the deepest possible dismay, “sat upon _my_ throne.”

She whirled around to him in such cold fury that he had to consciously stop himself from backing away.

“I would rather drown in my own blood than see _that_ day!” she hissed.

With that sentiment Agravaine completely agreed. Serving wenches were there to… _entertain_ princes in their womanly manner, to serve their masters’ needs – not to be married by them and to start behaving as if they were the equals of the lords of the realm. He had already a plan forming how to teach the little upstart that all-important lesson, but he needed time to work out the details.

“Then we must make sure such a day never comes,” he said with a dark smile.

Morgana smiled back at him icily. “I couldn’t agree more. We must make sure that she never sees another dawn.”

“Leave the insolent little slattern to me, my lady,” he said. “She _will_ be removed from your way, I promise. But I want to teach her a lesson first.”

“A painful one, I should hope,” she said coldly.

He nodded. “One that ensures that even if she and Arthur both lived, he would never entertain the mad thought of wedding her, ever again.”

“I want her dead,” Morgana declared forcefully.

“And she will be, soon enough,” Agravaine promised. “But we must break her before we kill her, so that she would not become a martyr of Arthur’s case. Martyrs are dangerous. Slatterns who die in shame are not.”

An awful glee began to glitter in Morgana’s eyes. “You can arrange that?”

“I believe so,” Agravaine smiled in dark satisfaction by the thought. “In fact, I have already made some… arrangements.”

“All right,” Morgana said after a moment, “but I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Agravaine smiled even darker. “That can be arranged; more so as I shall need your help with a certain potion.”

“What kind of potion?” she asked, eager to use her powers again.

“One that wipes memories and helps with planting false ones,” he answered. “Do you know such brews?”

“Of course,” she said with a cold sneer. “Those are easy tasks. I shall have it ready before nightfall. But how will you get it?”

“I assume you are still familiar with the siege tunnel that leads from the women’s wing of the Citadel directly into these woods?” he asked. 

Morgana nodded; she had once played in that tunnel as a child.

“I shall wait for you with a torch on top of the stairs, right after nightfall,” Agravaine promised, “and see that the guards will be occupied elsewhere.”

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
PART TWO**

After returning to Camelot, Agravaine had to turn his attention to his tasks as the Vice-Regent of the realm. Not that they had been too onerous – after all, he had a lot of practice in running a tight household, and keeping things on the roll in Camelot was different in magnitude only. But there was a lot to do, there were quite a few people to talk to and half a dozen documents to read through and sign. 

Even if those documents had been set up by Arthur and Master Geoffrey, originally.

Thus it was in the late afternoon when he could finally leave the King’s study in search for Gwen. Unsurprisingly, he found her in Uther’s chambers. She spent there most of her time in Arthur’s absence – when she was not helping Gaius with something.

Agravaine entered the King’s antechamber quietly and waited, leaning against a sturdy oak table, for Gwen to come out of Uther’s bedchamber. From his vantage point, he could hear her feed the broken man white lies about Arthur being on a hunting trip and returning soon. It was… interesting to hear, and it gave him food for some thought.

Uther’s dependence on his son in his current, fragile state of mind was promising, to say the least. It meant that as soon as Arthur had managed to die heroically for Camelot, Uther would follow, making the way free for Morgana. And since there was no-one else of the Pendragon bloodline, people would accept her, for the lack of any other solution. She might not have made herself very popular during her short reign – still, even those who had suffered losses due to her vengeful acts would prefer a Pendragon to some foreign conqueror.

With Uther and Arthur gone, there would be very few remaining obstacles; very few people who could still bring up the peasants against Morgana. Gaius was one of those, but Gaius was an old man, and old men suffered unfortunate accidents all the time. The most faithful knights will hopefully die in Arthur’s defence on this mad quest of theirs; if not, they would be easily dealt with. Most of them were commoners anyway, in blatant disregard of the Laws of Camelot; no-one would shed a tear after them.

The boy Merlin, should he survive, due to the lack of the half-wits, would be summarily executed for having poisoned Morgana all those years ago. Agravaine knew about that, and he knew that Morgana had not forgotten, nor forgiven the boy for it. He whole-heartedly agreed. Peasants should not be allowed to raise their hand against royalty; and if they did, one had to make sure they wouldn’t get another chance.

That left him with Gwen and her insolent ways to defy her betters. Yes, she might manage to create an insurrection in the lower town. Agravaine was determined _not_ to take that chance. He needed to remove that last obstacle from Morgana’s way to the throne; and the funny thing was he didn’t even need to arrange for an unfortunate encounter between her and the Dorocha for that.

All he needed to do was to discredit her in the eyes of the people. If Morgana wanted her dead, that could still be arranged later.

He wiped the dark smirk from his face in a hurry when he saw Gwen emerge from the King’s bedchamber. He straightened and stepped away from the table to intercept her.

“Your devotion to the King is most impressive,” he said with a benevolent smile.

Gwen startled, not having spotted him before; her face took on a somewhat petulant expression that, frankly, made her look dumb.

“I do it for Arthur… I mean, for _Prince_ Arthur,” she corrected herself hurriedly, belatedly realizing that it was unseeming for a lowly servant to speak of the Prince Regent of the realm in such an overly familiar manner. 

Agravaine’s smile never faltered. “Even so; considering that your father was executed by the King’s orders for being in league with a sorcerer…”

“My father was innocent!” she protested vehemently. “That sorcerer misled him! He would never harm the King… or anyone!”

“Of course not,” Agravaine’s features started hurting from the constant smiling; and at such a simple wench at that! “But that’s not why I sought you out. There is something I would like to discuss.”

Gwen looked up at him warily. She might have been a mere serving girl without education, but she was shrewd and manipulative enough to realize when she was being manipulated, so he had to thread carefully.

“I wish to apologise,” he continued, with as much honesty as he could muster, while the only thing he truly wanted was to threw her in the stocks, preferably without clothes to cover her shame, or have her flayed alive. “Yesterday… I feel I let the Prince down.”

 _That_ earned him a condescending half-smirk from the little upstart, and he had to grit his teeth for a moment before he could continue. 

“I’m grateful that you spoke out. Your… intervention spared me a grave mistake.”

“I did not mean to be discourteous, my lord,” she answered with false modesty, and it took Agravaine all his considerable willpower _not_ to backhand her with a force that would send her flying across the antechamber and crashing into the opposite wall.

Not meaning to be _discourteous_ indeed! He’d had servants flogged to the death for far less insolence!

But this was the little slattern that had bewitched the Prince Regent, so he had to be careful. For some reason, a lot of people seemed to like her, and as long as Arthur still lived, she’d be dangerous. Morgana had seen that better, he realized.

“Well, you weren’t,” he said with a benevolence that was every bit as false as her so-called modesty. “Not in the least.” 

He paused, gauging her reaction before risking his next step. 

“Guinevere, if you would permit, I would be grateful to seek your advice,” there was doubt and suspicion flickering across her face, so he hurriedly added. “You understand the people; better than I can ever hope to do. You are one of them. You know how they think, what they feel. You can help me with that.”

 _That_ seemed to be the right thing to say, if her self-satisfied little smirk was any indication.

“I’m not sure I…” she began demurely, but he interrupted.

“If nothing else, I know you’ll be honest with me.”

Which was a nice euphemism for _stupid and rude_ , but seeing how her smirk deepened, she clearly didn’t realize _that_. He stepped closer to her, calling up all that worldly charm that had always helped to get whatever serving wench had caught his temporary fancy into his bed.

“It’s not appropriate to talk here and now,” he said with a glance in the direction of Uther’s bedchamber. “But… perhaps this evening you could come to my chambers.”

Her eyes widened almost comically at that. She took a deep breath, which nearly caused her breasts to escape the too tight confinement of her bodice; she had certainly done her best to make her womanly charms noticeable in the manner of the court ladies. Agravaine’s eyes were caught by the walling of said charms for a moment; then he mentally chastised himself for being so easily distracted.

“Please, Guinevere,” he added in his best persuasive manner. “These are dark times. I’m going to need help if I am to guide us through them.”

She actually bought it! She honestly seemed to believe that a lord of the realm, twice her age and so far above her both in rank and in experience as the mountains, would actually _need_ her limited insights in order to rule as Vice-Regent of Camelot. Was she merely stupid or did she suffer from delusions of grandeur, just because the Prince was in lust with her?

Agravaine wished Arthur had simply bedded her right at the beginning. Since then, the novelty would have worn out already and the young prince would have tossed her back to the moat where he had found her. That would have meant one obstacle less for him; she certainly wasn’t worth the effort. But since the Brat Prince actually believed to be _in love_ with her, Agravaine was forced to deal with the unfortunate affair himself.

Arthur _might_ survive the quest, against all hope. His luck was legendary, and Agravaine needed to have a plan ready for that unlikely turn, too. Should the Prince survive, he had to be kept from foolishly marrying his little wench. Until he, too, could be dealt with properly – and irrevocably.

The girl, of course, had no idea what kind of game was being played with her as one of the pawns. She was basking in satisfaction over her newly won “importance”. Enough to become careless.

“Very well,” she said with a magnanimous smile. “I’ll come.”

Agravaine bowed deeply. He needed a moment to arrange his features into a smarmy smile. “Thank you.”

Gwen smiled at him benignly, which was more than what he could take. He turned around and hurried to leave, nearly knocking Gaius over on his way out.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
PART THREE**

Having spent the morning with collecting the dead killed by the Dorocha in the pervious night, Gaius had to visit all his usual patients in the afternoon and had thus both hands full of work. More so as – with Merlin having gone on the quest with Arthur and Gwen taking care of the ailing King – he had no help with the more mundane tasks of his healing craft. He had to admit that getting older tended to make things more tiring… and more time-consuming.

Therefore it was just an hour before nightfall when he had the chance to make his other daily check on the King. He usually visited Uther first thing in the morning and another time before retreating himself, but today he had not get around coming at the usual time, for which he felt vaguely guilty. Despite everything, he still considered Uther a friend, and he did not like to neglect the few friends he still had, not even in the name of duty.

He had expected to find Gwen in Uther’s chambers, but seeing Lord Agravaine depart in a great hurry surprised him. He barely had the time to sidestep, or else the Vice-Regent of the realm would have crashed right into him. The Lord of Bois did not even acknowledge his presence, but that was nothing new. Commoners had never been high in his regard.

Gaius looked after Arthur’s uncle for a moment in confusion, wondering over the thunderous expression on Agravaine’s broad face. Then he turned to Gwen worriedly.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Gwen seemed extremely satisfied with herself. “He wishes to speak with me later.”

“Later?” Gaius echoed, having a bad feeling about the whole thing.

Gwen nodded, still with that self-satisfied smile gracing her face. “In his chambers, where we wouldn’t be overheard; or interrupted.”

“In his chambers,” Gaius repeated slowly, not liking the idea the least. “Surely you won’t accept his invitation?”

“Why not?” Gwen clearly didn’t understand his concern. “I think he means to seek my counsel.”

“About what?” Gaius found the idea that _Agravaine DuBois_ , of all people, would seek the counsel of a serving maid, beyond ridiculous, but Gwen didn’t seem to share his opinion.

“About the people and their feelings,” she explained proudly. “I understand them more than he can ever hope to. His words, not mine.”

Gaius sighed and shook his head in exasperation.

“Gwen, there is usually only one reason for the lords of the realm to invite a serving girl into their chambers, and _that_ has nothing to do with other people and their feelings,” he said patiently. “It is not counsel they seek, either; only the pleasure they can find in bedding a serving girl. They are entitled to it, you know… unless you are a free woman of Camelot, which you are _not_. Despite Arthur’s feelings for you, you are still a servant. You’ve been fortunate so far that certain forms of servitude haven’t been demanded from you. Morgana, and later Arthur, have shielded you from that. But if you accept Lord Agravaine’s invitation tonight, you might no longer be so lucky.”

“He wouldn’t dare to lay hand on me,” Gwen said confidently. “He knows Arthur wouldn’t tolerate it.”

“Perhaps,” Gaius replied seriously. “But Arthur is not here, and there’s a serious chance that he might never return. We’ve already seen that Lord Agravaine thinks… differently about the common people in many things. And you’ve already crossed him once. Worse than that: you’ve humiliated him in front of the entire Council. He won’t easily forget – or forgive – that.”

“You’re wrong,” Gwen smiled. “He said he was grateful that I spoke out… that I didn’t allow him to let Arthur down.”

“ _Grateful_ ,” Gaius murmured. “Yes, I’m sure he is.”

“He wants to know more about the people, the simple folk,” Gwen explained. “Who else could help him more with that than I?”

“Who indeed,” Gaius murmured, shaking his head and looking after Gwen as she strolled out of the King’s chambers with a spring in her step.

Then he turned and continued on to Uther’s bedchamber. He _had_ warned the girl. If she chose not to listen, there was very little that he could do to protect her.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
PART FOUR**

Morgana hurried along the siege tunnel with a burning torch in one hand and hiding a clouded glass bottle in the folds of her hooded black cloak with the other one. She had almost reached the bottom of the long, steep stairway that led directly to the women’s wing in the Citadel (if one knew where the hidden trap door could be found, that is), when she heard the heavy footsteps of a man behind her.

“Hold!” a voice called.

“ _Hleap on baec_!” she hissed, without looking back, slamming the stunned knight backwards into the wall. The crack as his head hit the stone was most satisfying, but she did not waste her time with looking whether he was dead or alive. He wasn’t her concern.

She hurried up the stairs, reaching the top of the stairway, where Agravaine was waiting for her with another torch burning, slightly out of breath. Not as much that she wouldn’t be able to snap at him, though.

“I thought you’d keep the guards away from here,” she said, clearly irritated.

Agravaine frowned. “I did. I ordered them all to the strategic points of the Citadel, to keep the refugees safe.”

“Really? What was Sir Osbert doing in the siege tunnel, then?” she demanded.

“Perhaps he was trying to flee Camelot,” Agravaine guessed; not all new knights were the stellar examples of young manhood, after all. “I’ll see him suitably punished tomorrow. Right now, we have more pressing issues. Do you have the draught, my lady?”

“Here,” Morgana lifted the small bottle, but when Agravaine reached for it, she grabbed his arm and forced him in the knee with surprising strength that could not have come from her thin body alone. “Where’s my precious prey that you’ve promised?”

Agravaine hissed in pain. She was becoming more unpredictable the longer she dwelt in the woods alone. Having her back to her proper place in Camelot seemed more urgent, all of a sudden.

“Presumably on her way to my chambers already,” he replied. “You shouldn’t keep me from returning, lest she might feel that something is amiss.”

She gave him an icy look but let him go. “I’m beginning to wonder whether I should really trust you, Lord of Bois.”

“You need not to worry, my lady,” he answered slowly. “By being your mother’s daughter, you shall always have a claim over me. You cannot ask anything that I wouldn’t do for you; for she meant everything for me. _Everything_.”

She nodded impatiently, clearly understanding neither the full depth of his devotion nor the roots of it… and not particularly caring, either. It mattered not. Uther might have snatched her away after Gorlois’ death, but it had been him, Agravaine, of whom the Lady Vivienne had extracted a solemn vow on her deathbed. A vow that he would look after her little daughter; would see that she was happy.

For many years, he had lived in constant guilt for not having been able to take on a more active role in Morgana’s life. He could not take her from Uther, after all. But he wouldn’t fail her – wouldn’t fail _Vivienne_ – now, when she needed his help most.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
PART FIVE**

He had selected the two guards carefully. Young they might be, but their families ha served the Lords of Bois faithfully, for many generations. Their loyalty belonged to him, and to him alone.

They would have killed King and Prince Regent without batting their eyes if he ordered them. Having a little fun to teach an insolent serving wench the lesson of her life was nothing compared with the tasks they were usually entrusted with.

Using them in this manner was a shameful waste. But they were the only ones he could trust implicitly. He had given them very specific instructions, knowing they would follow them to the letter. As a result, Guinevere might or might not survive the night; but in either case, her credibility would be ruined, forever.

The real beauty of the thing was that she would even believe she had participated in her own doom willingly. _If_ she survived at all, that is. Camelot was still haunted by the Dorocha every night; they might finish the job for him, without casting the shadow of any doubt upon his motivation.

He had prepared the jug carefully. The portly silver dish had been specifically made for such purposes, fitted with a hidden little container in the inside, so that he could add Morgana’s potion to _Guinevere’s_ wine in clear sight, by pressing a cleverly disguised button on top of the handle. His wine, on the other hand, would remain unpolluted.

Assuming that she was coming at all. He still could not be entirely sure. Guinevere might have told Gaius about his invitation, and Gaius was shrewd enough, not to mention familiar with the courtly customs, to smell a trap. How else could he have survived Uther’s rule? He would certainly try to talk the girl out of coming here. _He_ would know what such an invitation truly meant.

The question was: would the girl listen? Agravaine did not think so. He knew she’d had a privileged status as Morgana’s maidservant; a status she’d undeservedly kept after betraying her lady, due to Arthur’s misguided affections. She would believe herself untouchable; well, she was in for a surprise.

There was a knock on his door, and Agravaine gave the prepared wine and goblets a quick glance. Yes, everything was in readiness, looking as harmless as always. The game could begin.

“Enter!” he called, turning to the door that opened just wide enough to allow Guinevere in.

She _did_ come, after all, just as he assumed she would. The Vice-Regent of the realm seeking her counsel was too flattering to ignore. She was wearing the same clothes she had on all day, but the experienced eye – and _his_ was such an eye when it came to female viles – noticed at once that she had taken the time to re-lace her bodice, making her womanly charms even more noticeable.

Ever since being courted by the Prince, she had taken to wearing dresses in the fashion of the court ladies. They were not terribly practical for working – not that she would be doing any real work save for keeping Uther (and _Arthur_ ) company – but well suited to catch a man’s – _any_ man’s – eye. A display for Arthur’s sake, no doubt, and most likely acquired by his generosity (gowns made of heavy, figured silk were not something a maidservant could have acquired otherwise), but it would serve _Agravaine’s_ current purpose nicely.

“Guinevere,” he said with a benevolent smile. “How good of you to accept my invitation. Please, come in and have a seat. I’ve taken the liberty to have some wine prepared for us.”

She curtseyed, giving him a somewhat nervous smile – not to mention deep insights into her bodice, which, he had to admit, _was_ an appealing sight – and took the proffered chair in a manner she might have considered queenly. In truth, it was a pathetic attempt of self-importance, but he was not about to shatter her delusions… not _yet_.

He started pouring some wine into her goblet from the silver jug, unobtrusively using the hidden button. She accepted and sipped the wine like someone who had always dined with the lords of the realm. It was a good vintage and very old – wasted on her, as were the finely wrought goblets of which noble ladies had once drunk, but it was all for a good purpose.

“Tell me about people’s feelings,” he then said, carefully putting down the silver jug outside her reach. “Do they feel safe?” She hesitated, and he added encouragingly. “You can speak honestly.”

Her face took on that stubborn expression as always when she was about to confront her betters. He had become quite familiar with that expression lately.

“No, they do not,” she declared, daring him to challenge her.

Agravaine did nothing in the kind. Instead, he walked around her chair, with his own goblet in hand, his face thoughtful. “Go on.”

“They’re frightened,” she continued. “Night after night they have seen their friends, parents and children all snatched cruelly from them, and they don’t know who’ll be next.”

Agravaine drank from his goblet to hide his smirk before turning to her fully. “What can I do to reassure them?” he asked. 

Frankly, her overly emotional declaration didn’t touch any cord within his heart. The peasants were _meant_ to be terrified, in order to bend to Morgana’s rule once the terror was over and Arthur was dead. But he had to play his role to the end.

“Show courage,” Gwen replied curtly. “Shutting the gates last night told them you were as terrified as they were. It’s like a horse and rider. If people sense your fear, they won’t trust you.”

Agravaine raised his eyebrow and went to the table, putting down his goblet and hiding a cruel smile. Her ridiculous preaching was getting on his nerves, and accusing him of cowardice was not an insult he was willing to forget. He was looking forward to pay her back for all the annoyance she had caused him lately.

“I am grateful for your advice,” he walked around her chair and laid both hands on the back of it. “You have a good head on your shoulders, Guinevere,” he leaned over the back of the chair, sorely tempted to wring her neck, then snatched his hands back in the last moment. Instead, he allowed his hands to slide lower, thrusting them down into her bodice and grabbing her breasts with deliberate roughness, squeezing hard enough to leave hand-shaped bruises on the tender flesh. They needed _evidence_ for later.

“Unfortunately, it is full of delusions and hot air,” he added, smiling cruelly and kneading the firm globes as Audrey Cook would knead her dough. Her whimpers of pain were every bit as satisfying as the look of shocked surprise on her previously oh-so-smug face.

She tried to free herself, but Morgana’s potion had already begun to work its magic, rendering her basically helpless. She could still struggle a bit, but not enough to offer any true resistance; having her at his mercy gave him a heavy feeling of power and control.

“Arthur’s foolish indulgence must truly have gone to your selfish little head,” he continued, relishing in the fact that he could finally show his true feelings. “Did you really believe that you can humiliate a lord of the realm in front of his peers and get away with it unpunished?”

There were tears in her eyes already, as she was beginning to understand the seriousness of the trouble she was in. Her lips were trembling. “My lord, I didn’t mean…”

“Oh, but you _did_ mean it,” he interrupted harshly. “You meant every single world of it. You thought just because Arthur tolerates your insolent manners towards him you can berate _me_ , a man of more power and influence you can ever imagine with that nut-sized brain of yours? You thought you have the moral high ground, just because you can play with the fears of some grubby peasants?” 

She could not answer. She was still whimpering, clearly out of her mind with terror, and he relished in it.

“Well, I have news for you, wench – you were mistaken. ‘Tis time you learnt your place. And once I’m finished with you, even Arthur will stop thinking with his _little prince_ and toss you back to the moat where you belong. Assuming that he survives, by some unexpected miracle,” he added, giving her breasts a final, particularly hard squeeze and ripping her bodice open with the same move.

“Are you… are you going to violate me?” she whispered through tears. He turned away from her in disgust.

“Do you believe me to be such a hot-headed young fool as your precious Prince? That I would lower myself to bedding a serving wench of no breeding, when I could have noble ladies, neglected by their adventurous lords, to warm my bed; and a different one at each night at that?” he shook his head in dark amusement. “Even if I did, I would not need to _violate_ you, wench. I am entitled to _use_ you as I please; you accepted my invitation and came to my chambers of your own free will. I thought Gaius would have warned you about that.”

Reality began to dawn upon her tear-streaked face. She tried to hold her torn bodice together, to cover her breasts, but he batted her hands away, not too gently. She was _not_ entitled to be modest… not after having flaunted her charms into every man’s face and behaving as if she were Queen of Camelot already.

After tonight, _that_ possibility would be safely banned.

“You need not to worry about me,” he added. “Unlike our Prince Regent, _I have_ my standards… and _you_ don’t match them. I’ve chosen the fitting people to teach you a lesson, though.”

He clapped his hands and the carefully selected guards entered, eyeing the girl’s uncovered charms with definite interest. He could not blame them. They were young, healthy men; and young, healthy men had their needs.

“Take her to the guard room,” he ordered. “Use her as you please; for tonight, she is yours. Make sure to leave plenty of marks on her body, but do not cause her any harm. She must believe afterwards that she sought out your company on her own initiative.”

“By your orders, my lord,” one of the guards, a burly young lad known to be able to straighten a horseshoe with his bare hands, replied with a wide grin, throwing the weakly protesting Guinevere over his shoulder and giving her round bottom a hard slap. “We‘ll give her a time she won’t forget.”

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
PART SIX**

They left Agravaine’s chambers through the side door that led to the guard room, in which they usually awaited his orders. That little chamber had no windows, just a shaft cut high under the ceiling for air and light – and no bed whatsoever. Not even a cot. They were supposed to _guard_ their lord, after all, not to sleep on duty. But it had a sturdy enough table that would do nicely enough.

Agravaine closed the side door and opened the hidden one behind the curtains of his bedchamber, letting Morgana in. These had once been the chambers of Camelot’s seneschal. Hidden ways led from here to almost everywhere within the Citadel, as a good seneschal needed to have his eyes and ears in every corner. They had stood empty for the last six or so years, since their last occupant had died, and Agravaine chose to use them for the very existence of those hidden ways.

“It is done, my lady,” he said. “When the guards had their way with her, they will escort her home… and leave her somewhere public, to be found. With her clothes torn just enough to leave no doubt what she had done before.”

“And should the Dorocha fail to kill her, she’ll remember having gone to the guard room with your men on her own volition, right after having talked to you,” Morgana added with a dark smile. “What if the Dorocha do kill her, though? How do we create the evidence?”

“The guards are prepared to drop hints about their good time with her among their fellow soldiers in any case,” he explained. “Dead or alive, her reputation will be ruined.”

“If Arthur survives, he might be foolish enough to forgive her,” Morgana muttered angrily. “I’ve never seen a man so besotted with such an unworthy wench.”

Agravaine shook his head. “ _Arthur_ might be. _The Prince Regent of Camelot_ , however, cannot afford the luxury of wedding a common whore. His first duty is to Camelot; whatever we might think of Uther, in that matter he’d taught his son well.”

“I’d still prefer to see them dead; all three of them,” she said, not entirely satisfied.

He nodded. “So would I. Not only caused Uther the death of my sister and younger brother; he also took your mother from me, seducing her with his false promises. Ygraine’s death I could forgive; she wanted a child as badly as Uther did. She might even have consented to the bargain with Nimueh. And Tristan… he sought his fate himself, challenging Uther to a duel to the death. But Vivienne… she truly hoped he would make her his mistress, perhaps even his Queen, one day, when Gorlois was gone.”

“Would he have?” she asked doubtfully.

“No,” he replied. “He only ever loved my sister. He _used_ Vivienne as a distraction, and _that_ is something I’ll never forgive. She deserved better, and both men in her life failed to give her what she deserved.”

“Not even Gorlois?” Morgana asked in surprise, showing, for the first time, vague interest for something else than just her vengeance. But again, she had loved her foster father, who had raised her believing that she had been his own.

“Gorlois was a good man; a noble and honest man,” Agravaine replied thoughtfully. “But he was more concerned with his own fame and honour than with his wife’s happiness. Far too often did he leave his lady behind, alone in his castle, to fight wars for Uther. In the years before your birth, Vivienne was a lonely and unhappy woman.”

“But she did have a daughter, did she not?” Morgana asked. “Was Morgause not living with her?”

“No,” he answered. “Like her father, she was more concerned with her own life. You must remember, my lady, that she was considerably older than you. At the time of your birth, she had already begin her studies with the priestesses on the Isle of the Blessed, and only came home for short visits,” he paused. “Uther seduced Vivienne during one of those visits.”

This was apparently new for Morgana, as she became stark white with shock. “She _knew_ …?”

“Of course she knew,” Agravaine smiled grimly. “The banning of magic was not the only reason – or the _main_ reason – why she hated Uther so obsessively.”

“But she was… she was _surprised_ when I told her that Uther was my father,” Morgana whispered.

“She lied to you,” Agravaine shrugged. “She sided with her father and treated Vivienne badly for the rest of her life, for what she saw as her betrayal.”

“Did she ever tell Gorlois?” Morgana wondered.

Agravaine spread his hands uncertainly. “I cannot know for sure, but I do _not_ think so. As I said, she loved her father very much; she most likely wanted to spare him the shame.”

“Gorlois never knew, then,” Morgana sighed. “He was a good father to me; a doting father. He loved me.”

“He did,” Agravaine nodded in agreement. “And for you, that must mean a great deal, my lady.”

“Not for you, though,” she said. It was not a question.

“No,” he admitted. “For me, what truly mattered was Vivienne’s happiness; and _that_ Gorlois failed to deliver.”

“If you loved her so much, why did you not ask for her hand yourself?” Morgana asked, slightly insulted by having been seconded by anyone, even by her late mother.

“Oh, I did,” Agravaine replied with a self-deprecating smile, “more than once, in fact. But she did not want me. She wanted Gorlois; _and_ Uther. Never me.”

“Is that why you hate Arthur, too?” she inquired. “Because he’s Uther’s son?”

Agravaine shrugged. “Personally, I’ve got nothing against Arthur. He’s a young, romantic fool, but not a bad one as fools go. He is, however, an obstacle in your way to the throne, and so he must go. I do not care about him, one way or another.”

“Speaking of obstacles,” Morgana said, “I shall need a good vantage point to see what is going to happen to Arthur’s little whore on her way home.”

“The walkway on the castle wall would do nicely,” he had expected her demand and thought about a possible solution. “I shall show you the access tunnel.”

Again, there was a knock on the door, interrupting his thoughts, and he frowned.

“Who could it be, this late in the evening?” Morgana asked. He shook his head.

“I don’t know. You better hide in the secret passage, though. People must not see you here; there are not many still loyal to you.”

He waited for the hidden door to close behind her ere he would call out. “Enter!”

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
PART SEVEN**

Gaius had been waiting for Gwen’s return in the King’s chambers until the candle in the anteroom burned to the ground. When she still had not returned by then, he went to look for her – but to no end. Having checked in the kitchens, in Arthur’s chambers, even in his own workroom, with no results, there was only one possibility left. 

So he gathered his courage and went to the chambers of the seneschal, which had been used by Lord Agravaine, ever since he had returned Camelot to support his nephew as Vice-Regent. 

Agravaine’s voice invited him into the dimly lit antechamber as soon as he had knocked on the door. Upon entering, he found the lord sitting at the table, alone.

Seeing him, Agravaine rose.

“Gaius!” he stepped closer to the door, as if trying to keep the visitor from entering the room any deeper. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

His tone was as friendly as ever; and yet Gaius had the feeling that his own presence was most unwelcome here. He could not well back off now, though.

“Actually, my lord, I was looking for Guinevere,” Gaius answered slowly, keeping any hint of suspicion out of his voice, although he had the uncomfortable feeling that Agravaine knew it better. “I understand you wanted to speak with her.”

There was clearly a flicker of annoyance on the lord’s face, although he did an impressive job of concealing it.

“Then I’m afraid you’ve wasted your journey,” he said. “She left some time ago. I’ve sent two of my trusted guards to see her home safely.”

“That was very kind of you, my lord,” Gaius said humbly. “I wonder, though, how could she have left without seeing after the King first.”

“Oh, she wanted to!” Agravaine smiled. “But I told her not to concern herself with that. She was there all evening, after all. I promised her to see that the King will be well looked after. She’d had a long day.”

“I imagine she was grateful for your concern,” Gaius managed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice… with some effort. Agravaine raised his eyebrows.

“She was indeed,” he replied. “She must be almost at home by now.”

“Of course,” Gaius muttered. “Forgive my disturbing you, my lord.”

He bowed in his usual hunched manner, his face showing no expression, and left, leaving a somewhat uncomfortable Vice-Regent behind. Agravaine closed the door behind him; then he closed his eyes, too, and relieved a long-held breath. That had been close.

“Well,” he said, to no-one in particular, “I believe we kept the fair Guinevere long enough. ‘Tis time for her to return to her quaint little house in the lower town… safely escorted by her new bedmates.”

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
PART EIGHT**

The visit in Lord Agravaine’s chambers served not to lay Gaius’ concerns to rest – on the contrary, he was now more worried than ever. He held out at Uther’s bedside for another mark of the candle, but then he could not keep hold on his concerns any longer. He checked on the sleeping King one last time, then he grabbed a torch and went out onto the street leading from the Citadel to the lower town.

The guards at the gate of the Citadel let him pass without questioning. They were used to him roaming the streets after curfew; there were always people, poor or rich alike, in sore need of his healing arts. And everyone knew that as long as his aching bones would carry him, he’d answer every call.

The streets were empty, like in a ghost town – which was exactly what Camelot had become in the recent days. Darkness had fallen; the Dorocha could appear any moment now, and the torch was admittedly an imperfect weapon to fend them off. But he had to make sure that Gwen was all right.

He almost reached her house when he spotted a dark shape, crumpled on the street in a pile of clothes. He could not quite determine the colour of the fabric – blue, dark grey or back… in any case, something dark – but it alarmingly reminded him of the new, warm cloak Prince Arthur had gifted upon Gwen at the onset of winter. There was even a faint silver gleam where the embroidery ought to be.

With a heartfelt groan, Gaius lowered himself on his knees next to the person lying on the frozen ground; his joints could bear less and less of such abuse as time went by. Holding the torch with one hand, he clumsily rolled the person over – and froze with shock.

It was Gwen indeed, but in what shape? Her bodice was torn; her neck, shoulders and barely covered breasts full of hand-shaped bruises and bite marks, her lips swollen. Quite frankly, she looked like an abused tavern whore. Her dress, her cloak, even her hair smelled of spilled wine.

The old man forgot about the danger threatening both of them. He gently lifted the head of the unconscious – or, more likely, stone drunk – girl, trying to clean her face with a corner of her cloak from tears, food smudges and who knew what other substances. He felt like crying, himself. What had the stupid child done? Why had she not listened to him?

The eerie scream of the Dorocha caught him unaware. He slashed with the burning torch at the dead spirit, trying to keep it from touching them, while frantically seeking for a shelter. Gwen’s house was close by, but he doubted if he could drag her in one-handedly, while fighting the Dorocha at the same time.

Fortunately, she seemed to come to, if only slowly. She tried to sit up but was clearly too drunk to do it.

“What happened?” she groaned.

“No time for that now!” Gaius hissed. “We are in dire peril. Try to reach your house any way you can; I shall protect you with what little I have at my hands.”

Gwen seemed to have difficulties understanding what he meant. The shriek of the Dorocha whooshing by, however, made her react. She crawled to her house on all fours, tossed the door open with great effort – and passed out right after crossing the threshold.

Slashing with the torch around him like a champion with a sword, Gaius slowly backed towards the half-opened door, hoping he would not stumble and fall before he could reach the safety of the house, where he would be able to make a bigger fire for their protection.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
PART NINE**

In the morning Gwen was still unconscious. After a close inspection, Gaius was relieved to see that she was merely sleeping out her drunken stupor and reluctantly left her behind in her house. He had duties to attend to; grim duties, but someone had to do them.

The guards of the Citadel, by Arthur’s decree, came down each morning to help him collect last night’s victims. Unlike in other mornings, though, they were uncommonly amused, smirking and whispering among themselves like gossiping fishwives. Gaius pretended not to listen – it was no fun to deal with the dead first thing in the morning – but even so, he thought he’d head the name _Guinevere_ mentioned. Several times.

It appeared that the guards knew something that he did not. Asking them straightforward would do no good, though. He was the court physician, and while the common soldiers did respect him for his knowledge and healing skills, they were also wary about him. It was widely known that he had the Prince’s ear, after all.

He resigned to the fact that he would not learn about this new, exciting gossip – unless from Gwen herself. Which was why he skipped lunch and dragged his old bones down to her house instead. He needed to know what happened after Gwen had left Lord Agravaine’s chambers – and who participated in it… whatever it was.

This promised to be the biggest scandal since an enchanted Arthur had been caught in bed with King Olaf’s spoiled daughter, and he did not know if it could be swept under the rushes at all. Too many people appeared to know about it already – and _he_ was not one of those people.

He hoped that Gwen would be able to answer some questions, and was greatly relieved to find her awake, if weak and confused, in her bed. She was still wearing the torn dress from the previous day and made no attempts to get up, though.

“I remember the guards walking me down the corridor,” she replied to Gaius’ question with a frown, “but then… nothing.”

“You should make a little more effort,” Gaius said grimly. “Your name seems to be in all mouths among the soldiers today. They must know something.”

“They you should ask _them_ ,” she returned petulantly.

Gaius sighed. “Unfortunately, they fall into silence in my company. Everyone knows that I’m the Prince’s trusted man… _and_ your friend. They won’t tell me a thing.”

“Well, I cannot remember!” she said, frustrated.

“Try,” Gaius answered dryly. “Those… marks all over you, they are very… telling. Have you been assaulted by those guards?”

“No; at least I think not,” she furrowed her brow, trying to remember something, _anything_. “They… they invited me to the guard room… we drank some wine… spilled most of it, actually… They made me compliments on how I was now an influential woman whom even Lord Agravaine respected; and on… on…”

“On what?” Gaius pressed as she trailed off, her face flushed dark with embarrassment.

“On my breasts,” she whispered, her face burning with shame. “They complimented me on my breasts… and on my… my bottom. They wanted to… to _see_ me, had their hands on me, everywhere…”

“They _raped_ you?” Gaius hissed.

She shook her head uncertainly. “N-no… I don’t believe so… but we… we did it on the table of the guard room… again and again…” Suddenly, she burst out in tears. “Gaius, why did I do it? I’m not a tavern whore!”

“No, you are not,” he agreed. She might be naïve and far too sure of herself in things she should have been modest and careful, but a slattern she was not. Not usually. So why would she have a savage romp with several men she hadn’t even known before?

“It must have been the wine,” he finally decided. “They must have mingled it with something that made you willing and helpless.”

“But they drank the same wine,” she pointed out.

Gaius shook his head. “That doesn’t mean a thing. There are ways and methods to put something in a wine goblet in plain sight. There are even rings that contain liquid poison in a hole under the stone. Somebody had planned this very carefully; or else the barracks wouldn’t be buzzing with gossip already.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why would anyone want to do this to me?”

“Because the future King of Camelot might take a serving girl into his bed on a whim, but he could never marry a common whore,” Gaius said slowly, the fragments finally coming together to form a clear picture.

She gave him a wounded look. “I am _not_ a whore, Gaius!”

“I know that, Guinevere,” he replied tiredly. “Unfortunately, after last night, no-one but me would believe it.”

“Not even Arthur?” she asked in a small voice.

“ _Especially_ not Arthur,” Gaius said heavily. “He’ll be disappointed beyond measure. He doesn’t trust easily, and such disappointments bring out the worst of him. You can call yourself lucky if all he’s going to do will be banning you from Camelot. He does not take betrayal kindly.”

“I did not betray him!” she protested; then she trailed off, uncertainly. “Did I?”

“I’m afraid that’s how he’s going to see it,” Gaius answered with merciless honesty. “And frankly, I don’t know how he could see it differently. You _did_ sleep with Lord Agravaine’s guards; and half the town knows about it already. Even if he were inclined to forgive you, which I doubt, he could not afford to do so. He will be King, soon; and a King has the opinion of his people to consider.”

Gwen started crying again. “What shall I do now?”

Gaius took her hand and patted it gently. “There’s nothing you can do anymore, child. I’m sorry, but your bargained high – and lost. Be grateful that it happened _before_ Arthur had defied his entire court and married you. At least you won’t be burned at the stake for adultery.”

She stared at him with frightened doe eyes. “Arthur would never do that!”

“He wouldn’t have any other choice!” Gaius’ heart went out for her, she was so well-meaning and trusting, but unfortunately, also far too simple-minded to survive in the serpent’s liar that was the royal court. “The law decrees that a Queen who soils the royal bed by adultery must burn. Publicly, to make an example for everyone. Bless your luck that you are not his Queen yet.”

“And I will never be, either,” she realized bitterly. “Not after _this_.”

“No,” he agreed. It was the harsh truth, but the sooner she faced it, the better was it for her. “Perhaps you should have settled for Lancelot, after all. It would have been safer for you; and he’d have made you happy. He loved you very much, you know; he still does.”

“It’s too late for that,” she said. “He’s accepted my choice and went on with his life. I cannot expect him to turn back and pick up the pieces.”

“Of course not!” Gaius exclaimed, slightly shocked by the mere idea. “He deserves better than that!”

“But what should I do with my life now?” she asked helplessly. “I cannot remain here; not when half the town already knows what I’ve done. I cannot face Arthur when he returns.”

She said _when_ , not _if_. Her unbroken faith in her invincible Prince was quite touching.

“It is true, you should not stay here,” Gaius agreed. “Arthur’s enemies would try to use you to force his hand. You have become a liability. You should leave, for his sake as much as for your own.”

“But where can I go?” she asked. “If the rumours swap over the city walls, all doors in Camelot will be shut in my face; and I can’t even blame the people for it.”

“There’s only one place where you’ll be taken in, no questions asked,” Gaius said slowly. “Go to Ealdor. It lies in Escatia, where Arthur has no power to pursue you. And Hunith will give you shelter for as long as you need it.”

“She will?” some of the weight was lifted from Gwen’s heart as she remembered Merlin’s kind, hard-working mother. She had only met Hunith twice, but she liked her very much.

Gaius nodded. “Tell her _I sent_ you, and she will. She has been very lonely since Merlin left, and she’ll be glad to have company… and some help.”

“But won’t that be the first place where Arthur would look for me?” Gwen fretted. “I don’t want to cause Hunith any trouble; and Arthur is no fool. He would know how limited my choices are.”

Gaius shook his head with a fond smile. “Hunith’s house is the last place Arthur would consider entering by force.”

“True,” she realized. “He’d never do that to Merlin.”

“Exactly,” Gaius said. “Now, why don’t you collect everything you might need in the near future while I… erm… _organize_ a horse for you. You’ll better leave while the gossip hasn’t reached the lower town yet.”

“I… I don’t think I could ride just yet,” she admitted, deeply ashamed by the reason for it.

Gaius rolled his eyes. “I meant a _pack horse_ , Gwen. You cannot carry all your belongings on your back. You might have a modest life, but you aren’t that poor that you could fit everything you own into a scrip. Now, go and start packing!”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
And so less than two hours later Guinevere, daughter of the late Tom Blacksmith, left Camelot through one of the lesser gates. She wore her old clothes, the ones from the time when she had been the Lady Morgana’s maid, wrapped into her father’s old, patched-up but warm woollen cloak. Her entire life was packed in the two saddlebags hanging from the back of a small, dun-coloured horse, which she led on the reins while walking just a few steps before the good beast.

Her dreams of becoming the Queen of Camelot had turned to smoke in the wind.

~The End~


End file.
